


Arachne

by Ruler_of_Nope_Island



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Choking, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Do Not Archive, Double Penetration, Drugging, Dubious Consent, F/F, Fisting, Mind Control, Monster sex, Multiple Orgams, Oral Sex, Other, Shower Sex, Spiders, Sticky, Transformation During Sex, Violence, mild violence, spider person, that's not a hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-03-30 05:58:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13944441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruler_of_Nope_Island/pseuds/Ruler_of_Nope_Island
Summary: I nearly posted it to the anon smut but since I write about 80% of the Daisy smut on here I thought I might as well post it here.It's pretty much what it says on the tin, folks.





	Arachne

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to those who encouraged me and will keep me company in Hell.

Daisy pushes the girl up against the wall, knowing that the rough brick would chafe against her back. She imagines it tearing that soft, lovely skin; imagines licking off the the grit and blood afterwards. The alley is dark, quiet, and reeks of piss and rubbish. She wants to make sure there is no possibility that this is romantic-  
“What’s your name?”  
The question surprises her. Usually she doesn’t like to ask.  
“Annabelle.”  
She leans forward and bites gently at Daisy’s neck. Daisy uses her weight to crush Annabelle further, keeps pushing until Annabelle squeaks in pain. She’s wearing something silky and short; one of those dresses that are practically underwear. Speaking of, she’s also not wearing any.  
“Dirty girl.”  
Annabelle twitches.  
“Filthy little bitch.”  
“Mmmhmm.”  
Annabelle nods. She’s a fair bit shorter than Daisy so when a thigh is pressed between her legs she has to stand on tiptoe.  
“Can we go somewhere a bit more comfortable?”  
Daisy doesn’t like to take girls home, either. She hates the inevitable cuddle and the polite murmurs of pillow talk. But she can feel the urge, suddenly; Annabelle lying on her bed, legs spread, bleached hair like a halo on dark sheets. She wants to put her mouth between Annabelle’s thighs and lick her until she’s...sticky? What?  
She pulls her head back to stare into Annabelle’s eyes. There’s nothing of the restless twitching of her usual prey but the compulsion was sudden, unnatural.  
“I’ll tell you what,” Daisy says. “If you can come just by rubbing yourself off against my leg, then sure. I’ll take you home.”  
Annabelle grabs Daisy’s shoulders and rocks forward, her breath hitching as her sensitive skin drags against the denim.  
“Challenge accepted.”

They take the train back to Daisy’s place, at her insistence; at this time of night the train’s almost empty, all the better for Annabelle to slip her slim hand down the front of Daisy’s jeans and rub her. Again, a strange urge: Daisy wraps her arm around Annabelle’s shoulders and buries her face in her neck. Soft skin and the smell of vanilla. The lights are bright through her closed eyelids and she feels dizzy. Not the least because Annabelle has her thumb and index finger on either side of her clit and is squeezing. It stings a little at first, but the press and release makes her hips stutter.  
She still has enough presence of mind to feel that she should be reciprocating, so she slides her hand down Annabelle’s back to pull up her dress, exposing her bare arse to whoever might look their way. She follows the curve down until her fingers reaches Annabelle’s soft, wet hole and presses against it, only for Annabelle to jolt away.  
“No-” she hisses. “Not here-” she tries to push Daisy’s hand away. But Daisy is stronger - god, she loves being stronger - and wraps one hand around Annabelle’s wrist to keep her hand just where it is. Annabelle’s other hand scratches ineffectually against her own arm. She pushes her fingers deeper and Annabelle full-out moans. Daisy opens her eyes - although the car is almost empty, it’s not actually empty - but no one is looking their way.  
There’s something wrong with the texture. She is sticky. Daisy pulls her fingers out, despite Annabelle apparently having a change of heart and clamping her thighs shut.

Wrapped around her fingers is a thin rope of sticky white. Daisy pulls experimentally - the rope stretches thin, but does not break. Annabelle shudders and her fingers pinch hard. Daisy was already close and this final movement send her over the edge.  
Annabelle opens her eyes and stares at Daisy, forehead creased.  
Daisy brings her fingers around and pushes them against Annabelle’s lips. Her eyes flutter shut and she sucks them clean.

There’s a white-hot heat that pulses inside Daisy’s entire body; it’s a struggle to get them both through the door and when they do Annabelle pushes her to the floor and straddles her. She kisses like she doesn’t expect to be kissed again. Full on tongue in mouth, lips, teeth. The scrap of the dress is discarded and Daisy runs her hands over every curve, then flips them so Annabelle’s on her back. 

She pauses; there’s a strange _give_ to her body, one that is vaguely disconcerting. Then she bites her way down Annabelle’s body.

“Come on,” she whispers, “Spread your legs. I owe you one.”  
“I-”  
“What?”  
“I’m not quite - not like other women. Not down there.”  
Daisy shrugs.  
“I’ll stop if I see anything I don’t like.”

_no you won’t_

Those gorgeous thighs open slowly. White threads criss-cross down Annabelle’s slit and stick to her pubic hair, which is strange but not entirely off-putting.

“Come on,” Daisy stands and pulls on Annabelle’s arms. “Let’s have a shower.”

Her own clothes get thrown into a corner. Her bathroom is dirty, her shower even more so, but it has one attraction: a handheld shower head. They both step into the shower. 

“Turn around,” Daisy says. Annabelle does, slowly, her back to Daisy’s chest. Daisy reaches up and pulls the shower head off its hook. Then turns the water on and aims it between Annabelle’s thighs. She’s rewarded with a jolt and a mewl. 

“Feels good, yeah?”

The only reply she receives is a breathy moan.

“Spread yourself for me.”

Annabelle does.

“Good girl.” Daisy thinks for a moment. “How do you feel about being choked?”

“I’ve never tried it before.”

“It’s good.”

Her hand is around Annabelle’s throat before she finishes answering. 

Water runs Annabelle’s legs and she begins to twitch almost immediately. A light pressure to start off with; not enough for a quick orgasm, but enough to feel that pressure, the light tapping of water against soft, yielding flesh. White strands run down the drain. 

“More?”

“More what?”

“More ple-” Daisy’s hand tightens around her throat and she gasps. Again, her flesh yields in a way that it shouldn’t but there’s something strangely exciting about that.

“Turn up the pressure, then.”

Annabelle reaches for the dial but Daisy jerks her away, laughing. She scrabbles against it and suddenly the pressure does increase, even though they should be too far away for Annabelle to be able to reach it. She takes a shuddering breath. A moment’s reprieve, then Daisy cuts off her air.

It only takes a little while before she’s shaking apart, cries cut off and body squirming against Daisy’s. Daisy can feel her own arousal dripping down her legs and she feels unsteady, dizzy. She replaces the shower head and nearly loses her grip on Annabelle. Something wet is still dripping from between Annabelle’s thighs and it’s too thick to be water. It turns opaque as soon as it hits the shower floor. And, oddly enough, a spider runs across the shower floor, neatly dodging the drops of water. 

“Take me to bed?”

Daisy has no intention of getting...whatever that is all over her bed so she lifts Annabelle up and hoists her over her shoulder. Lighter than she should be, as well, as if she were hollow. All of these things are starting to add up, now: Daisy knows she should be scared or at least angry at this thing, but something in her mind soothes her, promises her delight. It makes her want to kiss every single inch of this thing in her arms. It urges her to give in. 

She’s always thought she’d go down fighting, but going down fucking is a very close second.

The couch is a few meters away from the bathroom door so Annabelle gets dumped unceremoniously down while Daisy crawls on top of her.  
“You owe me,” Daisy growls. She puts Annabelle’s hand between her legs. “Make it good.”

The other woman blinks. Daisy recoils - suddenly it seems like Annabelle has too many eyes and her limbs longer than she thought and -

“It will be so good,” Annabelle says, softly. “Like nothing you’ve ever felt before.”

Somehow, Daisy is now on her back, with Annabelle’s hips over her face and Annabelle’s head between her legs. She reaches up and brushes her hand over Annabelle’s pubic hair - it’s soft and downy, more like fur than anything else. 

Meanwhile, something - something hard, which aren’t fingers - is parting her, exposing her to the cold air. She shivers as Annabelle leans forward to suck at her clit, using her teeth to scrape it lightly. It’s going to be over embarrassingly quickly. She call feel the blood hammering in her ears and her heart pounding against her chest. To distract herself she pulls herself up and licks Annabelle, who groans and rubs against her face. 

“Put your hand in me,” she whispers.

Even Daisy has to pause at that. 

“I’ve got no lube.”

“You won’t need it,” Annabelle says. “Trust me.”

Frankly, trusting her is not an option. But neither is leaving. Some part of Daisy is screaming and howling. The other part does not read Annabelle as prey, something to be hunted. There’s something that feels right in a way that it doesn’t with other women. _They_ are prey. Annabelle feels like an equal. 

It’s an awkward angle but Daisy manages it - one finger, then, two - Annabelle groans. When she adds another finger she feels something blunt and slick at her own entrance - not fingers, it’s rounded, almost like a dildo but it’s warm. She closes her eyes, adds another finger. The thing pushes in a few inches, stretching her. It aches and suddenly she’s not aroused any more. 

“Jesus-”

“Let me help.” There’s a sharp bite on her inner thigh and she feels her body relax. Her arm falls uselessly to her side. Annabelle moves away from her, twists her body in a way that humans can’t, and suddenly Daisy can see her, too many arms and too many eyes.

_that feels nice doesn’t it_

The voice is inside her head and Annabelle hasn’t said a word. 

_close your eyes_

All is dark. She feels that...whatever it is push further in and her muscles clench tight around it. But it’s starting to feel good again, her body relaxing around the intrusion. And then it pushes forward again and again and she feels so full and heavy. 

Something drags across her clit, almost a tongue but not quite. Wrong texture, again. But she can feel herself start to pulse, tighten and then release. The orgasm takes her further out of herself; she feels like if whatever’s inside her is the only thing holding her down.

_again_

The second time the thing begins to thrust.

_again_

The third time Annabelle lifts her up and presses something underneath the first, against the skin of her perineum. It’s slick too.

_again_

The fourth it’s inside of both of her holes now and shouldn’t feel this good. 

_again_

The fifth time it withdraws and it crawls over her. Daisy turns her head away, not wanting to look at its face - instead she sees its shadow on the floor and shuts her eyes again. It’s not often she feels this creeping, awful dread but now...the thing is cooing softly, rank breath on her face. She feels its furry body press against hers, feels something else rubbing between her eyes. It’s hard and cold. And curved. It slips inside her, easily. One edge grinds against her clit - the end rubbing at just the right angle to make that wet, hot feeling gather.

_so good so good so good_

Whatever that thing...injected her with is starting to wear off. It’s clearly too lost in its own pleasure to notice. Her head is beginning to throb and she feels rage tighten in her chest. She lets herself come one last time - Jesus, it’s made her come six times - before she reaches up and grabs the thing’s throat. Whatever mental tricks it has vanish in a burst of panic. She can tell by the look in its eyes (there are, she notes, only two) that it wasn’t expecting this. Too bad. 

Daisy’s fingers should meet more resistance as she crushes its throat but they sink in. Bile is hot and sour in her mouth. It opens its own mouth and a few spiders scurry out. 

“Fuck,” Daisy says, more calmly than she feels. Still, with her hand around its throat, she drags it to the door, opens it with her other hand, and throws it, still naked, down the concrete stairs.

Limbs should not be able to bend like that. And yet. It stares up at her, looking, of all things, hurt. Then it turns, and, on all fours, scurries down the stairs. 

Daisy closes the door and winces. There is something white and stringy between her legs. She goes to the bathroom, examines the floor of the shower, and decides that a flannel will have to do.


End file.
